Damsel
by Irishchic1234
Summary: Alice cannot escape the Beast. She is trapped in a demented fairy tale with no happy ending. But when she mets someone who changes her world and teaches her to see life in a different light, can Alice learn to fly? WARNING: This contains violence, don't like, don't read. Rated T because I'm paranoid
1. Chapter 1

Terror. That is all the awaits me as I enter my home. Terror that clenches your heart in an iron grip and makes it impossible to breathe. I can't fight it. Most of you have no idea what I'm talking about. You most likely feel comfort when you come home. Happiness. The stresses of the day melt away. For me? Only terror.

It didn't used to be this way. When my dad was alive, we were a happy family. I loved my parents and they loved me. Then Dad died in a motorcycle accident (I say motorcycle rather than car, since the former is much, much worse). Five years later, I still wake up screaming. My mom was crushed, her heart broken. She remarried a guy she met at an art exhibit. He was nice at first, but I never truly liked him. This stranger could never replace the father I'd lost. Never in a million years.

Then, when I was fifteen, disaster struck again. My mom got diagnosed with Stage Four breast cancer. She fought it for six months, but it was terminal. With her dying breath, she whispered that she loved me and for me to always follow my heart. it would never lead me wrong.

So I was left with my stepfather. My cruel, abusive stepfather. The first time he hit me, I screamed so loud that he clapped both hands over my mouth and snarled,

"If you scream again, I'l hit you harder."

I did scream louder. And he kept his promise.

That was three months ago. Since then, I've worked like a slave, cooking, cleaning and catering to his every need. Like Cinderella. My parents both loved fairy tales, and I inherited that love. So now, with my world completely turned upside down, I use the familiar stories to categorize things. My stepfather is the Beast.

My name is Alice. But this is not Wonderland. This is hell on Earth.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 1

Creak. I physically wince as the squeaky stair creaks underneath my weight. I can't let him know I'm going out; he won't let me. I creep across the floor and grab my backpack. I'm going to a writing class in downtown Manhattan. I'd seen the flyer in the school cafeteria and grabbed it instantly. I'd known I'd wanted to be a writer since I was five years old. Only my father had really understood that, and he was the only person who'd read any of my work. Since his death, no one had read my stories.

If the Beast had known my ambition, he would have laughed in my face. To him, I was slave, forced to stay with him for all eternity. I had no plans, no dreams, no life. That's the way serfdom works, correct?

I silently sneak out the door and close it silently behind me. I have exactly three hours before he wakes up. The Beast works like a clock; he gets drunk every night, stays in bed all morning to sleep it off, and then strolls into work at noon. His job is an executive at some big company. I have no idea how he landed that position, but, as he puts it, "It pays the bills."

I hail a taxi and hop in, breathing a sigh of relief. I tell the driver the address of the class and lean back into my seat to watch the passing city. New York always manages to raise my spirits. The constant bustle, the sounds, it makes me happy in a weird way. Fifteen minutes later, I'm at the Recreation Centre in Brooklyn. I wander around the halls until I find my class. Slipping into the back of the room, I sit down, getting out my notebook. A few people glance back at me, but I don't meet their gaze. Eye contact is getting harder and harder for me as the weeks pass.

The writing instructor surprises me. I expected some wise, old professor who would lecture and drone on about the proper use of adverbs, passive voice, etc. But this guy couldn't have been more than twenty. He wore faded jeans, a plain black t-shirt and ratty old Converse. His hair is a messy mop of brown above sparkling green eyes.

He must notice me watching him, because he cups both hands to his mouth and calls,

"I see we have somebody new. What's your name, sweetheart?"

"Alice." I murmur.

"Speak up, dearie. I'm an ancient twenty-year-old, i can't hear you."

I blush and repeat my name louder.

"Well, Alice. you've come on a good day. We're discussing fairy tales and the themes they hold."

I smile and he does too.

"I'm Peter, by the way."

I blurt out before I can stop myself.

"Like Peter Pan."

I feel like a complete idiot and look down. But Peter's face splits into a wide grin and he says,

"Yes, exactly like that. And you're Alice in Wonderland."

His harmless reference to my childhood nickname makes me want to cry. But I somehow hold it in and thankfully Peter continues,

"Okay, what are you guys waiting for! Get out your notebooks!"

The next two hours are bliss. I could completely forget out by issues and just write. It was like a dream, and I don't want it to end. But of course it does. Peter comes up behind me and says quietly,

"It's time to go."

I jump and hurriedly clutch my notebook. He can't see it. He'd think I was insane.

"Sorry," I stammer, scrambling for my stuff.

"I lost track of time."

He smiles and holds up my bag for me.

"You're like the White Rabbit now, always worried about being late. But, it can happen. Especially while writing. You just go into the Zone."

"Exactly." I say with obvious relief.

Peter helps me up and zips my backpack closed.

"I hope to see you back next week."

"You- you bet." I say shakily.

"Goodbye, Alice in Wonderland."

I nod and he turns to go. As he walks away, I whisper,

"Goodbye, Peter Pan."

The dream quickly turns into a nightmare. As I walk into the apartment, I find the Beast sitting at the kitchen table, arms folded. I stop short and just stare at him. It's only eleven in the morning. I still had another half hour.

"Where were you?" he asks silkily.

"I-I was-uh-"

He slams his fist down on the table, causing the milk container to toppled over.

"Don't you dare lie to me!" he snarls.

I brace myself for his hit, but it still brings immeasurable agony. A blast of pain explodes across my cheek and I fall to the ground.

"You little weakling!" he yells.

I kicks me in the ribs and I groan. The Beast gives one final whack. and storms out. I just lay there, moaning, praying for an end. Unconsciousness. Death. anything but this pain. Eventually, everything goes fuzzy and I drop off into merciful blackness.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 2

I woke up in a haze of pain. Everything ached. I heaved myself up and hobbled over to the medicine cabinet and grabbed the pain relievers. Taking out two, I swallowed them dry and then walked to the bathroom. Switching on the light, I surveyed my reflection in the mirror. One eye was swollen and puffy, and my cheek still throbbed. I gingerly pulled up my t-shirt and looked at my sides. Bruises covered my torso, ranging from my hips to the bottom of my breasts.

I leaned over the sink and started to cry, the salty tears stinging my face. I began breathing unevenly, and soon I was on the ground, hyperventilating. After about ten minutes of this, I regained control of myself and then heading up to my room. Falling into bed, I dropped off into a dreamless sleep.

The next morning, I forced myself to get out of bed and go to school. If I was absent a lot, people would get suspicious. And we couldn't have that, could we? I had five more months until I turned eighteen. I just had to last five months, and then I was out of here for good. It didn't matter where I went, as long I got away. College didn't seem like a possibility, since I have no savings to call my own. The Beast had wasted them all. But if I could just go and be on my own somewhere far, far away, everything would be perfectly fine.

I smothered my face with make-up to minimize the appearance of swelling and caught the subway to school. Walking into the building, I automatically plastered a smile on my face. Everyday, I built up a facade to protect myself, and it then came tumbling down as soon as i went home. But it's not like anyone at my school actually cared about me anyway. i had friends at my old school, when Mom and Dad and me lived in the heart of Manhattan.. but then she married the Beast and i had to move, leaving all my friends behind. After my dad died, I was still shell-shocked and I didn't want to make friends. So now I'm alone

Well, I do have two people who hang out with me, identical twins Carrie and Grace. They do everything together and actually complete each other's sentences, as strange as that sounds. I know this is kinda cruel, but i secretly call them Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum in my mind. But they're harmless, and sometimes I do feel they truly want to be friends. But I'm not willing to risk it.

So, at lunch that day, I sat there eating my ham sandwich while they nattered away to each other. Carrie suddenly turned to me and said,

"Hey, Alice?"

I looked up suddenly and Grace continued,

"Are you going-"

"To the Winter Formal?"

I shook my head and they gasped,

"Why not?"

"Haven't been asked." I said, taking a sip of water.

Carrie grinned and said,

"Well, we heard that word on the street is,"

"Kyle Knightly is going to ask you."

I stifled a laughed.

"As if."

Kyle Knightly was the guy every girl wanted. Handsome, captain of the football team, a model student...Cliche much? There was no way on this Earth that he'd ask me, the strange, quiet girl who no one likes, to the Winter Formal. Kyle would ask his on again, off again girlfriend, Jessica Simmons, the head of the cheerleading squad. Just like he had for the past three years. And so the cycle continues!

"It's true!" the twins chorused in unison.

I shook my head and continued eating my lunch in silence.

My mind, however, was on different subjects. My main goal that week was to convince the Beast to let me go back to the writing class the next Sunday. So, I set out to make the evening just right for when I asked. The Beast's favorite sport is baseball, so I made sure the Yankee's game was on when he came home from work. I cooked his favorite dinner, spaghetti, and put it in front of the television.

"What's all this?" The Beast asked when he walked in.

I shrugged and got him a glass of white wine. He sat down and began watching the game. I went into the kitchen to do my homework, biding my time.

I had to make sure that when I asked, he wasn't drunk enough to forget about the conversation, but loosened up enough so that when I asked, he'd say yes. So in the seventh inning, I slipped into the room and went behind the chair. This was if he lost it, I'd have the couch to somewhat protect myself)

"Hey Dad?" I said hesitantly.

I forced that word to come out of my mouth. He made me call him that. But he would never be my father.

He looked up and grunted to let me know he was listening,

"You know that writing class I went to on Sunday?"

He nodded, eyes back on the TV screen. I was losing him.

"Well, I was wondering if I'd be able to go back this weekend?" I said, crossing my fingers, praying he would say yes.

"I- suppose so." he drawled,

"If you're back in time to make lunch."

"Yes, I will be, I promise." I said breathlessly.

"Thank you!"

I then ran out of there and up to my room, jumping up and down on my bed in happiness.

*I wrote this in study hall. Some conscientious student I am :)*


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 3

On Sunday morning, I bounded out of bed and ran down stairs. Grabbing a slice of bread, i hurriedly buttered it and then charged downstairs to get a cab, eating my makeshift breakfast along the way.

I was the first one at the class, even earlier than Peter, so I just sat down in the back and begin working on my own. Soon everyone arrived, being way too rambunctious for 7:30 in the morning. But still no instructor. Ten minutes later, he ran in, breathless, hair all mussed by the wind.

"Sorry, I'm late everyone!" he called.

"Last night was kinda rough."

Everyone tittered, probably thinking he was out partying late last night. That was an automatic assumption of twenty-year olds, right? But something in Peter's expression told me what he'd been up to was the complete opposite.

Peter clapped his hands together and said,

"We're down to one hour and forty five minutes to get those creative juices flowing! Pens on paper now!"

Eventually, class ended and everyone trickled out. I gathered my things slowly, reluctant to leave. Peter caught my eye and gave me a small smile.

"You know, I don't lock the place up for a good forty five minutes. Feel free to stick around, if you want."

I nodded eagerly and his smile widens.

"Good. Do you mind a bit of music?"

I shook my head and he pressed play on his CD player.

A mixture of music comes on. It's all different but all soothing. Piano concertos, unearthly melodies from a singer I don't recognize, something that reminds me of the ocean. As I listened, I felt a deep layer of calm was over me.

Peter must have noticed because he said,

"Do you like my "dream" soundtrack?"

I nodded and Peter continued,

"That music is the only thing that got me through my high school exams. Every time before a big test, I'd force myself to close the book and listen to this. I slept like a log."

I smiled briefly, and Peter walked over to me.

"You're a senior right?"

"Yes."

"I'll make you a copy. Trust me, it works."

"Thank you."

Peter nodded and, pulling up a chair, sat down across from me.

"So, what made you want to write?"

I blinked rapidly and then I said,

"I know this sounds kinda cliche, but I write to get away from it all. I just kind of- escape reality."

Peter nodded thoughtfully and I asked.

"What made you want to write, Peter?"

He grinned impishly,

"Rebellion. My parents were horrified by the idea, so obviously I had to pursue it."

I smiled, my mind's eye conjuring up an image of a teenaged Peter, recklessly chasing his dream.

I glanced at the clock and then bolted up. I'd sat there for over a hour, not noticing time passing. Peter calmly piled my stuff into my bag and I grabbed it, running out.

"See you next week, Peter!" I called back over my shoulder.

It was only in my bed that night, that I had a horrifying realization. I'd left my notebook sitting on the desk.


End file.
